Chapter Text
Why won’t you go home?
“Because that’s not home.” Din said, then he winced and flinched back because he promised himself that he wasn't going to talk to it--
“Din?” Luke reached out and put a hand on Din’s wrist, his warmth chasing away the chill that always seemed to be nestled in Din’s bones. His touch was light as he danced his fingers down the tendons in Din’s wrist, only gaining weight as he trailed his fingers back up to tangle and twist with Din’s. “Hey, sweetheart--listen to me, okay?”
Luke squeezed Din’s hand.
You can take him with you. A king should always have something pretty standing next to him.
Din closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath.
Come home, my king--make your crown from the blood you’ll spill into the sand. Make it out of the pretty red glass that your planet has become.
“Shut up,” Din whispered it like it was a plea to long forgotten gods.
Maybe it was.
“Din,” Luke repeated his name softly, lifting his other hand to gently hold Din’s cheek. The synthetic skin felt odd against Din’s. Too warm and not warm enough. “Look at me.”
Luke’s voice was soft, but no less commanding.
Din snapped his eyes back open.
They were outside in the fields surrounding the temple. The breeze blowing warm and sweet, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. Luke was sitting in front of him with Grogu in his lap, still holding his hand while Grogu cooed in worry. The sunshine turned his hair to gold, his eyes into pools of the bluest waters, lit him up in a pleasant glow that Din wanted to sink into.
He would look beautiful in your crown.
“Maybe you should take it off,” Luke glanced down at the Darksaber, still hanging from Din’s waist.
Din shook his head. “No--it’s--I just slipped for a second.”
Luke looked worried, but he didn’t push it.
As terrified as Din was of the things the Darksaber whispered to him, he was far more terrified of what would happen if he let it go.
--
Din went cold, the first time he picked the Darksaber up.
It seeped into his bones, froze the blood in his veins.
It did not talk to him until he tried to pass it off to Bo-Katan. Then the Darksaber screamed at him.
--
Din knew he was dreaming.
He sat upon a golden throne, legs spread lazily as he held his spear loosely in his hand. Luke sat in his lap, his own legs thrown over the arm of the throne as Din kept his arm wrapped around Luke’s waist. He wore armor that was as black as the night sky, had pretty green flowers in his hair, and wore the mudhorn on his shoulder like a brand.
Din looked down at his people, kneeling before him with bowed heads and crushed helmets.
Sunlight spilled through the stained glass of the windows, throwing pretty colors across the throne. Across Din’s armor. Across Luke’s bare skin.
There was blood on Din’s hands, spilling into his gloves and staining his fingers. There was blood on Luke’s neck and jaw and smeared across his lips, staining them a pretty red. When Din darted his tongue out to lick his own, the taste of copper sunk into his teeth.
See? Look how pretty he looks.
Din agreed, lifted a hand to hold Luke’s jaw, to smear the blood across his skin. He was beautiful.
Can you imagine how pretty he would look with a crown on his head?
Din snapped his eyes open, shot up in bed and gasped for air like a drowning man.
Luke woke too, reached out for Din and pulled him close, held him against his bare chest like a child as Din gasped and struggled to remember how to breathe.
Luke did not ask.
Not this time.
--
When Bo-Katan saw Din’s eyes, she told them the Darksaber was his.
“I can not take it now,” she had said. “Even if I wanted to.”
Din didn’t understand. Not until he turned around. Not until Cara flinched back and Fennic bit out a curse in a language he did not know.
--
They’ll come for you.
Din stood in the fields outside the temple, holding the Darksaber and staring blankly at it. The sun was setting, washing the sky in brilliant oranges and golds. A part of him wanted to see the blade again, see it shimmer and gleam like the starry night skies of Mandalore.
Another part of him was afraid of what he would do.
They’ll take your crown and shatter it.
“I don’t care,” Din whispered. “I don’t want it.”
You can’t lie to me, my king.
A chill crept up Din’s spine, twisting and turning and sinking into his ribs, circling around his heart before squeezing. Din gasped, but he had learned to breathe through it.
I know exactly what you want.
“Din!” Luke’s voice carried across the field, warm and bright. “Dinner’s done!”
Din shook his head and clipped the Darksaber back to his belt. It fell against his thigh, heavy and hard.
The chill did not leave his bones.
-
The challenges came, just like Bo-Katan said they would.
Din never used the Darksaber.
Din never lost.
--
You are scared.
Din swallowed, but didn’t answer.
It was the middle of the night, but Din did not want to dream. So he sat in the little makeshift kitchen in the temple, nursing his fourth cup of caf as he stared at the Darksaber. He had set it on the kitchen counter where it stared back at him.
It felt odd to not be wearing it.
Why? I have chosen you.
Din shivered. Held his cup a little tighter.
You have nothing to fear.
“I don’t want to hurt them,” Din whispered. He thought of his dreams, of crushed helmets and broken armor, of the blood that stained his skin and filled his mouth like wine.
For a moment, there was silence.
Oh, my king,
This time when the chill slithered around Din’s bones, it felt almost comforting.
We would never hurt your Clan.
--
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
Luke sat next to Din in the fields. They were watching Grogu run through the wildflowers, giggling in delight as he startled the bugs and butterflies and they flipped and fluttered around him. He chased after them, laughing as they landed on his nose and hands before flying off.
“I’m fine.” Din said automatically.
Luke reached a hand up, gently lay it across Din’s cheek.
Din did not wear his helmet around Luke. Not anymore.
“You’re not,” Luke searched Din’s face, lifting his other hand to hold Din like he was a fragile thing. Breakable. Loved. “Don’t--please don’t lie to me.”
Din swallowed back something bitter and placed his hands over Luke’s. “It’s just bad dreams. That’s all.”
It’s time to go home.
“Luke,” Din started, then paused. Luke looked up at him, stayed quiet and patient as Din gathered his words. “Luke,” Din said again. “Cyar'ika,” he paused, swallowed again. “If I had to go back to Mandalore, would you come with me?”
“Of course.” Luke did not hesitate in his answer.
--
When Din dreamed that night, Luke wore a crown of red glass.
I told you he would be beautiful.
“Yes,” Din agreed. “Mesh’la.”
--
Din did not know how the Mandalorian found them. He did not think to ask. He threw out his challenge and Din accepted without a second thought, drew the Darksaber when the Mandalorian looked at Luke and Grogu and said “I’ll take them too.”
It was cold in his hand. Heavy.
Luke stepped back into the shadows of the temple, holding Grogu tight. The child cried softly, and Luke did his best to soothe him.
“I will kill you first.” Din said.
The Mandalorian laughed.
“You can try.”
You will gut him like an animal.
The fight did not last long. Din did not know how to fight with a saber, but he did not need to know. The Darksaber guided his hand, struck brutally and quickly. The Mandalorian could not defend himself, and when Din knocked him to the ground and he asked for mercy Din did not give it to him.
The Darksaber sunk into his stomach, and Din pulled it up and listened to bone and armor crack and shatter.
Blood pulsed and splattered as his heart still beat, landing on Din’s cheek and across his nose. It was warm. Sticky.
His helmet still sat near the temple steps.
Din retracted the Darksaber’s blade, watched the Mandalorian gasp and bleed out in a patch of wildflowers.
Here is your crown, my king.
“Din?”
Din looked up.
Luke had cautiously emerged from the shadows. He still held Grogu, one hand supporting his body while the other held the back of his head, keeping it tucked against his chest so the child did not have to see. Luke’s eyes widened when they met Din’s, and while he did not take a step back, he faltered and stopped his movements.
“Luke,” Din’s voice didn’t sound quite right. “Cyar'ika,”
Luke swallowed.
“We have to go home now,” Din said.